


Sins of the Past

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [29]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Athos Angst, Dragon Riders, Drama, Gen, Hurt Aramis, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: The Musketeers are tasked with collecting the merchant Bonnaire and escorting him to Paris, but a host of disgruntled parties on their tail complicates things. Meanwhile, Athos is plagued by the ghost of his dead brother.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 35
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Some dialogue from 1x3 in this fic; it's not mine.

The saccharine tang of salt-laden air made d'Artagnan's nose itch as he stood on the docks in Le Havre, watching the ship that had just made port for his target, the merchant trader Emile Bonnaire. Apparently some of his recent activities were in violation of France's treaties with Spain and Treville had sent d'Artagnan, Aramis, and Porthos to collect him and bring him to Paris to answer to the King.

The man was easy to spot—he walked with a swagger and buoyant smirk like he was the richest man on earth, without all that stuffiness found in a noble upbringing. D'Artagnan watched him saunter down the gangplank and onto the street, heading for the closest tavern where the musketeers had anticipated he'd go after getting into port. D'Artagnan wasn't the only one watching, though. He spotted two men ahead of him also trailing behind Bonnaire with obvious intent. This could get interesting.

D'Artagnan kept his distance as he followed behind the lot of them. He heard the raucous chorus of cheers from inside the tavern as Bonnaire loudly announced drinks for everyone. D'Artagnan entered a moment later, pausing to scan the taproom. Porthos was seated at a booth in the back, and Aramis happened to be at the next table over from the one Bonnaire had chosen to seat himself at. D'Artagnan casually made his way over to join the marksman.

Bonnaire had taken a seat, but he stood again when the tavern wench came over to set out a cup. He pulled a large, smooth feather from his bag as he moved closer to her.

"The tail feather of an Amazonian macaw," he said. "Quite the loveliest bird in the jungle, yet not half so lovely as you." He twirled that feather ever closer to her face with seductive restraint. "It matches your eyes perfectly."

"Seduced by a feather, really?" d'Artagnan scoffed in a low voice, even as he watched the maid take it.

"Anyone can tell a woman she's beautiful," Aramis replied. "Making her believe it…" He grinned. "Is where the genius lies."

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes, then leaned his arms on the table and turned his head toward Aramis, lowering his voice further. "One at the door, one at the table."

Aramis gave a barely perceptible nod. "One behind Porthos."

They met Porthos's gaze across the room, and the large man dipped his chin, his eyes sliding to the left, indicating he knew about their third interloper.

"And who's this?" Aramis mused, gaze now shifted to the entrance.

D'Artagnan slid back in his chair so he could angle his head that direction. Two men in fine clothing and matching buckles had entered and were looking around the room, though d'Artagnan noticed their eyes repeatedly roved over Bonnaire.

"Our man is certainly popular," he commented under his breath.

Aramis tapped his elbow, and d'Artagnan stiffened as he noticed the other men were preparing to make their move. Yet before they could, a loud voice rang throughout the room.

"Emile!"

A woman in a dark green dress stood at the bottom of the entrance steps, her face set in fury.

"Dear God," Bonnaire muttered.

The woman unsheathed a dagger and stormed toward him.

D'Artagnan started to push out of his seat, but Aramis touched his arm and shook his head.

"I want to see how this plays out," he said, leaning back in his seat with a fiendish gleam in his eye.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes and shot a look at Porthos, who appeared equally intrigued by this new development.

The tavern wench stood between the armed woman and Bonnaire, twirling that exotic feather in her hand. Without warning, the other woman lashed out, slicing her blade through the quill and then grabbing the maid. The wench tried to pull away, and the sleeve of her blouse ended up tearing. The other woman spun around to come at her again, and she grabbed a basket off the table to throw in her attacker's face.

D'Artagnan really thought this was getting out of hand, though he was impressed when the finely dressed woman threw the maid bodily onto the table and climbed up on top to straddle her. But she then snapped her livid attention to Bonnaire, seated mere inches from her.

"I'll kill you," she hissed.

"Darling, calm yourself, I beg you," Bonnaire replied blithely. "It's far too early in the morning." He frowned at something behind her, and d'Artagnan realized those other men weren't going to let themselves be distracted by this unexpected display.

One man with a club started toward Bonnaire, who drew a pistol and shot him in the knee from under the table. The woman who'd threatened him only moments before rolled off the table and pointed her blade at the now wounded man.

"Touch him and you die!"

_Now_ it was finally time to get involved. The man at the table behind d'Artagnan lunged out of his seat, but d'Artagnan quickly stuck his leg out and tripped him. He and Aramis sprang to their feet, the marksman drawing his pistol and pressing his boot against the fallen man's shoulder to make sure he stayed down.

Across the room, the third man made his move, but Porthos was out of his seat and slamming him into a support beam so fast the man had to be seeing stars as he crumpled to the floor.

Aramis let the second guy up so he could collect his wounded comrades and go. D'Artagnan shot him a warning look as he passed.

"You can stay away too," the woman snarled, still swinging her dagger around at anyone who moved.

Aramis stalked around her, keeping her attention on him. "A moment ago you wanted to kill him," he pointed out.

"I have the right," she spat. "You don't."

She lunged with her blade at him. Aramis torqued to avoid the initial slash, then grabbed her hand and wrested the dagger from it. He then spun her around twice so fast that she lost her balance and he deftly shoved her toward d'Artagnan, who caught her and tried to keep her in a restraining hold as she struggled like a bucking bronco.

"Get your hands off me!" she shrieked.

She sank her teeth into his hand and he yelled as she slipped out of his grasp. He heard Porthos chuckling and threw an incredulous look at Aramis.

"She just bit me!"

Bonnaire walked across the table and hopped down, effectively ending the disruption. "Gentlemen, thank you. Thank you," he said heartily. "I can't thank you enough. Lucky for me you were here."

"Not entirely," Aramis replied. "Emile Bonnaire, I am Aramis of the King's Musketeers. You are under arrest."

Porthos stepped in and began divesting the merchant of his weapons.

"We're taking you to Paris to appear before the King," the marksman explained as he produced a length of rope from his belt and tied Bonnaire's hands.

"Er, no…I'm afraid I can't, er, can't travel today," Bonnaire blathered. "'Cause I've got important business…"

"Your business will have to wait," Porthos interrupted tersely.

"Right…"

D'Artagnan canted his head toward the squirrelly woman with a violent temper. "What about her?"

"I have a name," she replied sharply. "It is Maria Bonnaire."

"Gentlemen," Bonnaire said with a half smile, half grimace, "my wife."

"That explains a lot," Aramis remarked.

Porthos chuckled while d'Artagnan just rolled his eyes again and rubbed at his hand.

Porthos did a more thorough search of Bonnaire's person for concealed weapons, and then they were ready to go.

The two men who had entered earlier but stayed out of the ruckus had managed to work their way around to Bonnaire's table and one of them picked up a storage cylinder from the chair. He held it out to them.

"I would hate you to lose anything so valuable," he said, his Spanish accent quite distinct. "You wouldn't want this to fall into the wrong hands."

Porthos gestured for them to hand it over.

Bonnaire turned around to face the musketeers, his expression a little more unbalanced than it had been before, though he quickly recovered. "Well, gentlemen, Paris it is."

They started toward the door. Aramis held out the dagger he'd taken from Bonnaire's wife for her to take back as she passed him. She snatched it from his hand with a seething glower.

Bonnaire turned on his heel after a few steps. "Oh, um, grant me one last favor before we go. A few moments alone with my wife."

D'Artagnan couldn't keep himself from laughing. "You must think we're stupid."

Aramis shrugged. Porthos chuckled.

D'Artagnan snorted. "Terribly sorry, apparently we are." His eyes were going to roll out of his head the rate this mission was going.

Aramis held up a hand to stall them. "We must have your guarantee that you won't try to escape," he said with a pointed look.

"You have my word on it," Bonnaire declared staunchly.

Porthos shot him a dry glare.

"As a gentleman," he added.

D'Artagnan scoffed silently. Right.

"She bit me," he hissed as they escorted Bonnaire and his wife upstairs to one of the rooms.

Aramis just grinned.

.o.0.o.

Athos exited his office and started down the steps, scanning the yard as he went. The musketeer he was looking for was filling the water trough over by the dragon dens.

"Etienne!" he called.

Etienne finished emptying the bucket before turning to meet Athos.

"I have a mission," he said, holding out a stack of sealed missives. "To be delivered to the Baron La Rue. Take Geoffrey."

Etienne accepted the letters but hesitated. "Uh, permission to take someone else. Geoffrey's dragon has been showing an increased interest in Astra. An unreciprocated interest."

Athos frowned. It wasn't uncommon for dragons to develop a mating drive, but it was problematic if it was going to disrupt the regiment. "Very well. Take Hugo. I'll speak with Bonacieux about redirecting Huron's urges."

Etienne nodded appreciatively.

Athos started to turn and leave when he felt eyes on him. Looking past Etienne's shoulder, he stopped cold at the sight of his long dead brother standing across the yard, staring right back at him. Athos's breath caught in his throat. Thomas looked the same as he did the day that Anne had murdered him, was even wearing the same shirt. But his face…his eyes were dull, dead…accusing.

Athos couldn't move, couldn't look away. He knew this wasn't possible, that it couldn't be real, and yet he felt his brother's gaze holding him like a tether.

"Athos!"

Someone gave his shoulder a rough shake and he snapped back to the present with a gasp.

Etienne was gazing at him in concern. "What's wrong?"

Athos blinked and jerked his head back toward the opposite end of the yard, his brow furrowing in consternation when all he saw was a musketeer with his jacket off, shoveling out one of the dragon pens. Thomas was gone.

"Athos," Etienne repeated worriedly.

"Uh…it shouldn't take you more than two days to deliver those letters," he said, retreating a step. "And I will follow up with Bonacieux about Geoffrey's dragon."

He turned and fled back to his office. His mouth was suddenly dry and he went straight for the bottle of wine in his bottom desk drawer, yanking the cork out and knocking back a long swig. He nearly choked on a ragged inhalation and braced his palms on his desk, bowing his head to focus on his breathing. Where had that come from? It'd been years since he'd been plagued by such visions, and usually it was just his mind replaying the scene of finding Anne standing over his brother's body over and over again…

It wasn't even the time of year of the anniversary of Thomas's death…actually, Athos realized with a start, he'd missed it this year. Things had been so hectic after the defeat of the Cardinal, his promotion to captain, and returning order to the city, that Athos hadn't had time to think on anything else.

Maybe that was it. His subconscious knew what he'd consciously forgotten and was punishing him for it now. A sharp reminder that he could never fully escape his past.

A rap on the door almost made him knock over the bottle. He caught it before it could crash to the floor and quickly stoppered it.

"Enter," he called as nonchalantly as he could manage.

The door opened and Treville stepped inside, dressed in his midnight blue finery with silver buckles on his finely embroidered vest.

"Minister," Athos greeted in surprise. "I just gave Etienne those letters to deliver."

Treville nodded. "I'm not here about that."

"Missing your old office?"

Treville's mouth quirked. "I never realized how small it was…" He reached out and ran a hand down some of the new paneling. "In case I haven't said it before, it suits you, Athos."

Athos took a seat at his desk and lifted the wine bottle in offering. Treville declined it with a wave.

"You didn't come here just for that, though," Athos remarked.

"No. I just received intelligence that two envoys from the Spanish court have arrived in Le Havre in pursuit of Bonnaire."

"Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan should have him in custody by now," Athos replied. "I thought the King of Spain wanted France to handle the situation?"

"That is what Phillip wrote to the King about. Perhaps he doesn't trust France to see it through."

"Well, three Musketeer dragon riders should be able to handle it."

Athos wished he was with them. Maybe if he was in the company of his found brothers, he wouldn't be having visions of his long dead one.

He side-eyed the bottle of wine before stuffing it back in the drawer and getting to his feet. "I need to see Bonacieux about a dragon matter. Dinner tonight?"

"A working dinner?" Treville responded.

"Or just two old men reminiscing about old times," Athos said with a shrug.

Treville smirked. "Watch who you're calling old."


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos stomped up the steps of the tavern after having a look around outside. "Bonnaire's admirers have gone," he told Aramis. "For now, at least."

Aramis leaned his arms against the railing of the second floor landing. "What do you think they wanted?"

Porthos snorted as he adopted the same position. "Probably owed them money."

The sounds of a creaky bed and gasps drew their attention to the door they were guarding.

"All traders are slippery as eels," Porthos went on.

There was another loud gasp and groan.

"Oh, my love! I've been so long at sea and all my lust has been scooping!" Bonnaire's voice echoed from within.

Porthos shook his head and shared an amused laugh with Aramis.

The marksman sighed. "Amateur," he lamented. "Well, we'd best be heading out."

Porthos nodded and the two of them made their way downstairs and out the back where a covered cart was waiting in the narrow alleyway. A man was sitting in the driver's seat and looking fidgety. Porthos and Aramis waited and watched as Bonnaire slipped out a window on the second story and clumsily managed to reach the street without breaking his neck. The driver of the cart leaped down and rushed to usher Bonnaire into the back.

Porthos and Aramis took that moment to stride forward and climb up onto the wagon seat. Aramis took the reins. The wagon jostled with Bonnaire securely in the bed, and Porthos glanced through the slits in the tarp covering to see through to the back as d'Artagnan stepped into the street and pointed his pistol at the driver, using the barrel to gesture for him to get lost. The man skittered off like a frightened rabbit.

Porthos held his hand up, and Aramis drew the mule to a brief stop.

"What—" Bonnaire started, lifting his head, but cut off as d'Artagnan hopped in the back with him, pistol still in hand.

"Everything shipshape with the wife?" Aramis asked as he got the wagon going again.

Bonnaire glanced between him and d'Artagnan and then sagged in defeat.

They drove the cart out of town to where they'd left the dragons. The poor mule became obstinate as they approached the large predators, but yoked to the wagon as it was, it had nowhere to go. It finally drew to a frightened stop and they all hopped down.

"Uh, what is this?" Bonnaire sputtered.

"This is your ride back to Paris," Aramis replied as the dragons came over. The mule squealed and d'Artagnan moved in to try to calm it.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. I am not getting on one of those beasts."

"Careful," Porthos warned, "you'll hurt someone's feelings."

"But my wagon!" Bonnaire exclaimed. "I can't leave without it."

"I'm afraid you'll have to," Aramis said, going to Rhaego and checking the saddle.

Bonnaire shook his head staunchly. "I have exotic gifts for the King! Now what do you think he's going to do to me when he finds out that I don't have a gift for him?"

"Quite ugly things, I'd imagine," Aramis replied blithely.

Porthos quirked an amused grin at him.

Bonnaire's mouth moved soundlessly, but then he drew his shoulders back. "I refuse to leave it behind, and you forcing me to do so is the equivalent of highway robbery."

Aramis heaved a sigh and glanced at Porthos and d'Artagnan as though he was actually considering it.

"You can't be serious," Porthos hissed, moving closer. "It'll take us days to get there."

"It'll cost us nothing to humor him."

"Except a few nights in a warm bed," d'Artagnan muttered.

Aramis looked at Bonnaire again, and Porthos saw when he'd made the decision.

Scowling, Porthos turned and stormed back to the merchant. "Fine," he growled. "Get up there."

Bonnaire grinned and hastily climbed onto the wagon seat and took the reins. Porthos climbed up next to him and snatched them away, shooting the man a sharp glower.

It took several moments for the mule to get accustomed to the dragons enough to willingly start moving again. Even so, Aramis climbed up on Rhaego and they and Vrita took up position in the rear, out of the donkey's sight. D'Artagnan went up with Ayelet to do some scouting.

The wagon juddered and bumped over the uneven ground, especially when they took a route out along the river so there was room in the tall grass for the dragons to walk abreast. Porthos didn't care for the jostling. Or for Bonnaire's endless prattle.

"I've always admired men of a military disposition," he was saying. "My father raised me on tales of the great heroism of the Musketeers."

"Who was he?" Porthos growled irritably. "Nostradamus? The regiment didn't even exist then."

"I was going to be a soldier once myself," Bonnaire went on, unfazed. "But life…life had a different plan for me. All the things I've done, the places I've been. My friend, you would scarcely believe the stories I can tell."

Porthos snorted. "Yeah? Try me."

"Well, there was this one time I dropped anchor near a small island called Goree. There was a pirate…"

Porthos only half listened. The man talked with a silver tongue as smooth as any swindler, and Porthos put no stock in his tale.

Bonnaire paused as he got to the telling of him and the pirate sharing a drink and reached behind him to pull out something from the back of the wagon. It looked like a gourd, but with a bottleneck and twine securing a stopper.

"A calabash," Bonnaire said, offering the item to Porthos. "Grows all over West Africa."

Never one to turn down free drink, Porthos took a curious swig. His brows shot upward in pleasant surprise and he hummed appreciatively. Oh, that was good.

Bonnaire smiled. "I'm guessing your ancestry owes something to those regions."

Porthos's amusement faded and he handed the calabash back. "Maybe."

"Did they come to France as slaves?" Bonnaire asked and knocked back his own swig.

Porthos debated whether to answer. "My mother. Moved to Paris when she was freed."

Bonnaire nodded. "I've known many freed slaves who prospered."

"Yeah, well she didn't," he bit out. "I was fending for myself since the age of five."

"Still, you… From the streets of Paris to the King's elite regiment? Quite a journey."

"I took to soldering, unlike you," Porthos replied with a fake smile at the man.

Bonnaire's mouthful of alcohol looked like it momentarily soured on his tongue as he tried to smile back.

Ayelet swooped down to land on the riverbank, startling the mule again.

"We're being followed," d'Artagnan reported. "By two men dressed in black, about a mile behind."

Aramis moved Rhaego up to the front of the wagon. "The men from the inn?"

"Yes."

Aramis furrowed his brow. "What are they waiting for?"

"They'd have to be pretty stupid to attack a company wit' three dragons in it," Porthos put in.

Though that begged the question—why follow them at all?

.o.0.o.

They traveled for another hour with their tails showing no indication of getting any closer before they finally pulled off the road for a rest. Aramis swung down from Rhaego to stretch his legs. There was a good deal of tree cover here, and the ruins of an old chateau. If they stayed here for a bit and sent one of the dragons off in the other direction, it might fool their pursuers into thinking they'd gone a different way.

Aramis was just about to bring it up with the others when he heard something rattle from within the supposedly abandoned ruins. He turned in a slow circle, senses peeled against the deceptively still scenery.

"What is it?" d'Artagnan asked, drawing his pistol in response.

"What's going on?" Bonnaire asked, and Porthos held a hand up for him to be quiet.

The dragons shifted, eyes narrowed. Rhaego's nostrils flared, indicating he smelled something.

Aramis unsheathed his sword. "Come out and state your business!" he said loudly.

D'Artagnan arched a brow at him. "Really?"

He shrugged.

D'Artagnan's eyes widened and Aramis whirled just as a man with an ax came charging out from behind a tree at him, but the crack of d'Artagnan's pistol took him down. Grates on the old ruins burst outward as men broke through and charged up a small incline toward the musketeers with raging battle cries and weapons ranging from blades to clubs.

"Ambush!" Aramis shouted.

Something was tossed through the air at the dragons, and a split second later there was a pop and explosion of light. The dragons screeched and reared back as another flash bomb was thrown their way, sparks and powder flying in their faces.

"Porthos, stay with Bonnaire!" Aramis shouted as he and d'Artagnan met the onslaught with a clash of blades.

D'Artagnan blocked a blow from a club, kicking that man back down the small slope. He ducked another from a wooden staff, but his sword got wrenched from his hand and he grabbed the staff instead, yanking it from his assailant's grip and turning it back on him.

Aramis cut down his first opponent, then parried a blow from the second and twisted around, using the other man's momentum to send him careening into a post. He didn't turn back in time to meet the third, who lashed a heavy chain against his back with such force that it almost doubled him over. He couldn't help crying out but managed to keep his feet and spin around to punch that man out.

Pain radiated down his lower back and Aramis hissed as he struggled to stand upright again. More men kept coming. D'Artagnan was currently fighting off three while Porthos grappled with two and Bonnaire hid under the wagon. The dragons were still trying to get their bearings but a couple of men were lighting more explosives to throw at them.

Aramis snatched up the chain and swung it above his head a few times before letting it fly. It struck the men before they could launch their bombs, and the things exploded in their faces instead. Two more men fell under d'Artagnan's and Porthos's might.

"Anyone else!" Aramis shouted.

"That's enough," someone ordered, and a man in merchant's cloth stepped out from the chateau.

The brigands halted their fighting.

"I've no argument with you," the newcomer said to the musketeers. "Only with him." He jabbed an angry finger at Bonnaire.

"Gentlemen," Bonnaire said with a sigh, "allow me to introduce my business partner, Paul Meunier."

"On the face of it, I'd say your partnership isn't going well," Aramis sniped. His back twinged and he tried to cover a wince.

"I funded Emile's expeditions for eight years, and yet I discover his ship has arrived, my cargo is nowhere to be found, and he's made no contact with me!"

"There was no- there was no time, Paul," Bonnaire replied. "I was forced to travel to Paris without warning." He shot an accusing glare at the musketeers.

"Hand him over and we will be on our way," Meunier declared.

"We sympathize with your grievances, monsieur," d'Artagnan interjected diplomatically. "No doubt your partner is a cheat and a swindler. However, it is our duty to deliver him safely to Paris, so you'll have to wait and seek justice there."

"I'm not leaving without him."

"That is unfortunate, because neither are we," Aramis said firmly, drawing his pistol and pointing it at Meunier. He'd had enough of this. "Tell your men to lay down their weapons."

Meunier looked disgruntled but gave a subtle nod to his thugs.

"I don't suppose I have a say in this, do I?" Bonnaire said.

Aramis shifted his aim to the left and arched his brow, daring the man to say one more word. Bonnaire quickly shut up.

"I will inform the First Minister of your claims against Bonnaire," Aramis told Meunier, lowering his pistol.

"How do I know you won't betray me?"

Porthos took a menacing step toward the man. "We're gonna pretend we didn't hear that."

"If we see your scouts on the road again," Aramis added, "there won't be any second chances."

"What scouts?"

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Two men in black. They've been on our tail since Le Havre."

Meunier pursed his lips thoughtfully. "They're not mine."

Aramis frowned.

"I'm not the only man with an account to settle with Emile Bonnaire," the merchant said with a pointed look at Bonnaire as he turned to leave.

The musketeers turned exasperated glares on the man, who folded his arms across his chest defensively.

Aramis huffed. "Let's go."

He clipped his pistol back onto his belt, wincing as it bumped his bruised back, and walked over to the dragons to see if they'd been injured by those flash bombs. He checked their eyes first, ordering each of them in turn to follow his finger. They hadn't been blinded, thank goodness. Ayelet had some red flecks on her snout, likely powder burns. Rhaego probably had similar ones but they wouldn't be easily visible with his red coloring. Vrita had been behind the two of them and shielded from the brunt of the explosions.

"They okay?" d'Artagnan asked worriedly.

Aramis nodded. "I have some salve I can rub on their scales for the irritation, but I think we should travel a few more miles first, find a place to set camp for the night."

They quickly gathered up the rest of their weapons and mounted up, then headed out. Aramis's back was aching fiercely by the time they found a small clearing inside a copse of trees to stop at. But he pushed through the pain and examined the dragons' faces again to make sure no more damage had manifested. He then retrieved that salve and rubbed it into the reddest spots while the others made camp and began preparing dinner. He was grateful when he could finally sit down, propped up against his saddle.

"So any idea who our other friends are?" Porthos asked Bonnaire, glaring at him across the campfire.

"Ah…I really have no idea," the man floundered.

"Hm," was all Porthos said in response.

Hopefully those two men wouldn't be any more daring than Meunier's had been, and they'd had greater numbers and munitions at hand.

Still, Aramis was grateful to have three dragons on watch, as he was far too exhausted to spend half the night worrying about it.


	3. Chapter 3

Athos stood on the balcony overlooking the garrison, arms leaned on the railing as Treville used to do. He watched the last daylight recede into gloaming twilight. Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan hadn't returned as Athos had expected them to. Of course, many things could have happened. Bonnaire could have given them trouble. He could have had an aversion to dragons. It wasn't cause for concern yet.

Athos turned and went back into his office to the never-ending paperwork on his desk. He spent another hour signing off on reports before deciding to call it a night. Gathering up the completed papers, he took them over to the cabinet to file away. He then closed the door—and jolted badly when he found Thomas standing _right there_. His dead brother stared at him with unwavering intensity.

Athos staggered back a step. "What do you want?"

The apparition didn't speak, just continued to bore that deadened gaze into him. Then a bright red stain began to seep through his shirt, spreading wider and darker in the center. Thomas raised an arm toward Athos.

He scrambled for his sword that was hanging off the back of the chair. But when he whirled back around, Thomas was gone. Athos spun in place, searching every darkened corner of the room. There was no sign of his brother. Athos crept back toward the place where he'd been standing. There wasn't even a speck of blood on the floor.

Still, given the fact that the dead had been raised only a couple of weeks ago, Athos was feeling rather unnerved after this second encounter, and he had to check to be sure. He strapped on his weapons belt and grabbed his cloak, then headed downstairs to the dragon dens.

Savron was curled up in his alcove. Athos rapped his knuckles on the wall to wake him. His dragon opened his eyes and lifted his head, quirking a questioning look at his rider.

"I have an urgent errand," Athos said and turned for the dragon tack room to get his saddle.

Savron stood up and took a moment to stretch before following.

Athos swiftly got him saddled and then mounted up. It didn't even occur to him to let anyone know where he was going as Savron leaped into the air and Athos directed him north toward La Fère.

The cloudless night bathed the countryside in milky moonlight, the Seine rippling like a ribbon of white silk. But Athos saw none of it. His mind's eye was filled with visions of that revenant, standing in his office like it was real. Of course, the rational part of his brain knew it couldn't have been. Physical bodies didn't materialize and disappear without a trace like that. Not without magic, anyway.

And that's why Athos needed to see for himself…

They arrived at his family villa within a couple of hours and Savron landed in the field out back. Athos wasted no time swinging out of the saddle and digging around the exterior of the house for a discarded torch. When he finally found one, he held it out for Savron to light, then strode through the back door into the house. His pace was practically frantic the closer he got, until he was rushing through the halls and down to the cellar where the family vault was located. After he'd given the armaments to the people of Pinon two years ago, there'd been no reason to lock it up again. He regretted that now.

His heart lurched into his throat as he entered through the open wrought-iron gate and swept toward the burial section. His pulse hammered as he raised the torch to light up the crypt…and found his brother's tomb intact.

Athos stared at it for a long moment, his previous haste now paralyzed with trepidation. He forced himself to move closer and examine the edges of the stone lid. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, an even coat. It hadn't been disturbed.

Athos almost thought to grab a crowbar and leverage it open to make damn sure there was a body inside, but he cut off that train of thought. This wasn't like the necromancer, whose reanimated corpses had dug their way out of their graves. No, Thomas's remains were where they were supposed to be.

Athos didn't know whether to be relieved or not, though. Of course he was glad his brother's decomposed body hadn't been raised to life. But if that wasn't what happened, then Athos had been hallucinating. And considering he hadn't been drunk either time, that was definitely cause for concern.

He turned and slowly made his way back outside where Savron was waiting for him. His dragon furrowed his expression at him and let a querying trill. Athos extinguished the torch in a bucket of rain water and then simply stood there, not quite sure what to do next. They should return to Paris, of course, but then what? What if Athos continued to have more of these hallucinations? What if they happened while he was on duty, or with the King?

Savron nudged his nose into Athos's shoulder, jarring him from those spiraling thoughts. Athos lifted his arm to rest his palm on his dragon's snout.

"I might be losing my mind," he confessed, knowing Savron would never repeat it to anyone. Leastwise, not anyone on two legs.

It also meant he had no words of comfort for Athos as he stood in the dark outside a broken home, wondering if his life was going to crumble around him once again.

But their partnership had never needed words. Savron lowered his head so Athos could lean against him. It was a small gesture, but it was enough. Athos let himself lean on his friend as he took a few moments to gather himself. He didn't know what was going on, but he wouldn't be alone in dealing with it.

.o.0.o.

Aramis woke to the sounds of the dragons shuffling around as morning dawned. Reassured that the night had been uneventful, he started to rise so they could get back on the road, only for pain to seize every muscle in his back and steal his breath in one go. He collapsed back on the ground with a choked gasp and tried to at least roll onto his side, now that his lower back was screaming at him.

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan called in alarm, and he felt hands grabbing at his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"What happened?" Porthos demanded.

Aramis was too focused on getting his breath back to answer.

"I don't know," d'Artagnan said. "Aramis!"

"B-back," he managed to get out.

D'Artagnan hopped over him to look, but then had to reach back around to his front to loosen his sash. Then Aramis felt his coat being folded up, followed by his shirt being yanked out from his trousers. "What the…"

"I imagine it's bruised," Aramis said, the pain receding some now that he'd stopped moving.

"That's an understatement," d'Artagnan replied. "What the hell did this?"

"Chain."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Porthos growled.

"I knew it was just a bruise. I just—" he sucked air through his teeth as d'Artagnan probed the edge of the contusion. "Didn't anticipate it consuming my entire back."

"The darkest coloring crosses from the bottom of your left shoulder blade down to your right hip," d'Artagnan described. "But yeah, your whole back looks swollen."

"There's some salve in my bag," Aramis said, waving vaguely toward his saddle.

"Good lord," Bonnaire exclaimed. "That looks unpleasant. Perhaps I should give you some privacy…"

"Don't even think of trying to sneak off," d'Artagnan warned. "Ayelet, watch him."

Bonnaire sputtered indignantly.

D'Artagnan knelt beside Aramis and held the open saddlebag toward him so he could pick out the right tin. Then he moved behind Aramis again and began to massage the balm into his back, which made him suck in a sharp breath and arch away from the touch.

"I don't think he's gonna be able to ride," d'Artagnan said quietly to Porthos. "Not even in the cart."

"I'll be fine," Aramis insisted. "I just need to stretch it out a bit. It's stiff from sleeping on the hard ground all night, that's all."

Porthos snorted in disagreement.

"The dragons do need to hunt soon," d'Artagnan put in. "They could go now, give you some time to get moving?"

Aramis nodded. "Good idea."

D'Artagnan finished massaging the salve into Aramis's back and then tugged his shirt and coat back down.

"Help me sit up," Aramis said.

Porthos took his arm and eased him upright, then back a few inches so he could recline his upper back against his saddle. It left him gritting his teeth again, but at least it didn't feel like his entire back was spasming up.

"Have Rhaego and Ayelet go," he said. It was always good to keep one dragon around for security.

His dragon shot him a disgruntled look and gurgled in protest.

Aramis huffed impatiently. "Stop being a child," he chastised. He really wasn't in the mood for games right now.

Rhaego smacked his jaw as he glanced at Ayelet, who took off into the air first. He flapped his wings to quickly follow.

Aramis sighed and dropped his head back against his saddle. Rhaego really was being quite stubborn about Ayelet for no good reason whatsoever.

Porthos climbed into the back of Bonnaire's wagon and re-emerged with some bread and cured meat, which he brought over to share with Aramis.

"Hey now," Bonnaire started.

"What?" Porthos challenged. "Surely these aren't the special gifts for the King you had in mind."

"Well, no, of course not."

Porthos grinned wolfishly at him. "We'd best not let them go to waste." He gestured for the man to come take a seat with them.

Bonnaire sighed and slogged over to sullenly partake of the breakfast.

Porthos tossed a few chunks to Vrita, even though Rhaego and Ayelet would share the catch they brought back with her.

"Porthos!" d'Artagnan suddenly called.

Porthos rose swiftly and strode over to where d'Artagnan was gazing out at the open countryside with his spyglass. "What is it? Meunier?"

D'Artagnan handed the spyglass over. "You'd better take a look."

Aramis shifted painfully where he was still seated, trying to see past them. All he could make out though was a figure on a horse heading their way.

"Bonnaire's wife," Porthos said in disbelief. "What's she doing here?"

D'Artagnan shrugged and drew his pistol. Porthos quirked a brow at him.

"I've still got the scar from the last time I underestimated her," he said.

Bonnaire grinned and made a move to get up, but Aramis reached out to grab his arm, shooting him a warning look.

The rider drew closer, bowed over the horse's neck.

D'Artagnan raised his pistol. "Stop there."

"Don't shoot!" Bonnaire yelled, jumping to his feet.

Aramis scowled and struggled to push himself up as well. Fortunately, Vrita was behind Bonnaire and snapped her jaws at the air, effectively distracting him for a split moment, enough for Porthos to take a step back and position himself between the merchant and his wife.

Maria moaned as she lay hunched over in the saddle. "I came for you, Emile," she said breathlessly. "As I swore I would."

"You've had a wasted journey," d'Artagnan replied.

"Can't you see she's injured?" Bonnaire protested.

"I was attacked, on the road," she whimpered. "Two men, dressed all in black." She let out another pained sob.

D'Artagnan glanced over his shoulder at Aramis, who exhaled heavily. It wasn't like they were going anywhere anytime soon anyway…

D'Artagnan lowered his pistol and moved toward her. "Let me help you down."

She straightened up and whipped out her own pistol faster than they could blink, aiming it at d'Artagnan's face. "Patronize me one more time and you'll lose your head."

Aramis stiffened, and next to him Vrita snapped her head up angrily. But Maria was too close to d'Artagnan for the dragon to make a move before she got her shot off.

"Drop your weapon," she demanded.

Bonnaire clapped a hand to his forehead and broke into a series of chuckles. "Why, you fooled even me! My darling!"

D'Artagnan let his pistol fall to the ground, but Maria kept her weapon trained on him and flicked an uneasy glance at Vrita.

"Now, gentlemen," Bonnaire said. "Fascinating as this episode has been…" He moved past Porthos and d'Artagnan and swung up behind his wife. "Now I must dash."

Maria smirked at them. "I was Emile's scout in Brazil. There's nothing I can't find if I want to."

"And she chose to find me." Bonnaire sighed happily. "True love is a beautiful thing."

She then aimed the pistol down and fired into the ground at d'Artagnan's feet, sending dirt splattering into the air as she turned and kicked the horse into a gallop to ride off into the woods.

Porthos immediately darted for where Vrita's saddle sat on the ground so he could get it on her. "Call the others back!"

Vrita threw her head back and belted out an echoing call that Rhaego and Ayelet were hopefully within range to hear. Porthos quickly cinched up the saddle straps and climbed onto her back. They launched into the air without another word, leaving Aramis and d'Artagnan to fume on the ground.

"Next time I'm going to shoot her," d'Artagnan growled.

Aramis's gaze caught sight of a red shape flying toward them swiftly. "Heads up."

D'Artagnan glanced up and then hurried to grab his saddle, waving one arm wildly to get Ayelet's attention on where to land.

Aramis wanted to go with him, but there was no way he could move fast enough to get Rhaego saddled that quickly, nor was he in any shape to ride a dragon bareback. They'd have to handle this without him.

"Bonnaire escaped," Aramis informed the dragons as soon as they landed and d'Artagnan was rushing to saddle Ayelet. "Vrita and Porthos have already gone after them, but they went into the woods."

That was a lot of tree cover to potentially lose them in.

D'Artagnan finished saddling Ayelet and they both took off.

Aramis caught Rhaego's eye and cocked his head after them. "Go."

His dragon needed no further instruction and followed suit. Aramis watched them go, gritting his teeth in frustration at his injury, at Bonnaire, and at the pain twinging at his back from getting up too quickly.

He worked to compose himself, though, so he could do the things he needed to in order to be in better shape when the others returned. But just as he turned around so he could go do some gentle stretching, he found a strange black man standing in the middle of their camp, pointing a gun at him.

" _Madre de Dios_ ," Aramis muttered as he slowly raised his hands. Just what else was going to go wrong this morning?

"If you're here to commit highway robbery, there are a few items in the wagon I suggest you take a look at," he said casually, hoping to distract the bandit long enough he could reach his weapons belt.

"I'm not here for that," the man replied. "I want Bonnaire."

_Doesn't everyone?_ Aramis thought wryly. "You've just missed him."

"The other musketeers will catch him," the man said confidently. "So I think I'll just wait. On your knees."

Aramis's jaw clenched, but the man had too much distance for Aramis to rush him, not that he was in any shape to do that. He tried to hide his wince as he slowly got to his knees, not wanting his captor to know of his weakness.

The man strode around him, still keeping his distance, until he came right up behind him and shoved his boot into Aramis's back. He choked on overwhelming pain forking through his entire torso as he landed face first in the grass. His captor swiftly pulled his arms behind him and lashed his wrists together. He then yanked Aramis back up and stood behind him, the barrel of the gun pressed into the back of his neck, content to do exactly what he said he would—wait.


	4. Chapter 4

Porthos scanned the woods below as Vrita soared over them, trying to catch a glimpse of Bonnaire and his wife. The foliage was thick, though, and Maria was dressed in a dark green cloak and had a black horse, which would only lend to their camouflage.

Vrita let out a raging roar, perhaps in an attempt to spook their horse into giving its location away. It didn't seem to work, though.

Rhaego swooped past them, pulling out ahead to aid in the search. Ayelet with d'Artagnan caught up on Porthos's right.

A gun shot abruptly echoed through the trees and the dragons immediately turned toward it. Further ahead, Porthos caught sight of a horse breaking from the woods, the bright rust color of Bonnaire's jacket clearly visible. There was no sign of Maria though.

"I got him!" d'Artagnan shouted, and Ayelet veered after him.

Porthos and Vrita continued straight to investigate the gun shot. Beneath the canopy of branches and leaves, he spotted two men in black trying to flee. Vrita beat her wings harder to get ahead of them and looped around to land at the edge of the woods just as the men were riding out. Vrita screeched in their path, and one of the horses reared, throwing its rider to the ground. Then both horses bolted to the left and took off.

The man left behind scrambled for his pistol.

"Don't!" Porthos warned, whipping his own out.

The man's finger twitched around the trigger, and they both fired. His shot missed, but Porthos's struck true, hitting him right through the chest. Porthos swung out of the saddle and rushed over.

"Who are you?" he demanded of the man gasping for breath on the ground.

" _La resurreccion de los muertos y la vida eterna_ ," he said, blood splattering his lips. Then his eyes closed and he fell still.

Porthos frowned. Why would the Spanish be after Bonnaire?

He glanced around and noticed a body lying in the road several yards back in the woods. Porthos got to his feet and hurried toward it, recognizing Maria's dark cloak and curls. Her eyes were open and unseeing. Porthos sighed. She may have been a conniving little minx, but she didn't deserve to be shot down in the road like a dog. And what had Bonnaire, her loving husband, done? Run off and left her there.

Porthos returned to Vrita and they headed back into the air to find that slippery bastard. But d'Artagnan had already caught up to him and Porthos saw the man currently clutched in Ayelet's talons and flailing as she took him for a little ride. Porthos smirked.

Ayelet finally headed toward the ground, pulling up into a hover a few feet before touching down so she could plop her cargo on the grass. Bonnaire was a blithering, trembling mess when Vrita and Rhaego landed in a circle around him.

D'Artagnan leaned across his saddle. "Thought you could outrun a dragon? Really?"

Bonnaire shrugged guilelessly as he tried to sit up, though he still flinched away from the surrounding dragons.

"You gonna tell us why the Spanish are after you?" Porthos asked.

"Uh…I couldn't say," Bonnaire hedged.

Porthos snorted. "Right."

"Spanish?" d'Artagnan asked.

"The two men in black. One of them's dead. So's Maria."

D'Artagnan shook his head in disbelief. "We should get back to camp."

"Let's tie him up on Rhaego and let him fly back," Porthos said, nodding to Bonnaire with a wolfish grin.

"No!" the man exclaimed. "No, I'll- I'd rather walk."

Porthos really didn't give a rat's ass what Bonnaire wanted, but he figured the man had gotten his full of a scare from dangling in Ayelet's claws, so they agreed to all walk back to camp. However, Porthos wasn't above a little needling…

"Your little escape attempt interrupted the dragons' breakfast," he said. "An' you really don't want to get between a dragon and its food."

Taking that as a cue, Rhaego turned and bared his fangs menacingly at Bonnaire, who skittered away from the russet dragon, only to almost bump into Vrita, who growled low in her throat. Porthos exchanged a grin with d'Artagnan.

The camp was just ahead, everything still and quiet.

"Aramis?" Porthos called.

There was no response.

Frowning, they moved closer, only to freeze on the spot at the sight that greeted them just around the front of the wagon: Aramis sitting on his haunches on the ground, hands bound behind his back, and a black man standing behind him with a dagger tucked up under his chin.

"I have no quarrel with you," the man said. "Hand over Bonnaire."

Porthos slid a seething glower at the merchant. "Another business partner?"

Bonnaire shook his head, looking confused. "I'm sorry, Monsieur, you have me at a disadvantage."

The man sneered. "I doubt you would remember me even if we had met. To you, anyone with dark skin is just a commodity to be bought and sold at market, like chattel." He shifted his scathing glare to Porthos. "And you of all people are protecting him."

Porthos raised his brows in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"He's a slave trader!"

Porthos blinked and turned his attention to Bonnaire. "What's he talking about?"

"I really have no idea," Bonnaire stammered.

"He fills his ships with slaves to take to his colonies," the man spat. "Stolen people, stolen lives! Scum like him deserve to die." He pressed the dagger more firmly up under Aramis's chin, forcing the marksman's head back. "Now hand him over."

Rhaego hissed angrily and Vrita growled low in her throat. The man shifted nervously but held his ground; he knew he had the upper hand with Aramis as a hostage.

D'Artagnan held up his hands placatingly. "Listen, we're taking Bonnaire to the King to face charges. He will be punished for his actions."

The man shook his head. "He'll try to buy his way out. That's what men like him always do. And I will not stand by and let another oppressor of my people get away with it…"

Aramis suddenly jerked to the side, flinging himself to the ground. Porthos's hand went to his pistol, even as he remembered he hadn't reloaded it yet. But d'Artagnan had done the same and his was primed. Fast as a whip, he drew and fired, hitting the black man in the shoulder.

Porthos surged forward, reaching him in a few quick strides, and snatched the dagger out of his hand. He swiftly divested him of the rest of his weapons while d'Artagnan rushed to Aramis.

"He cut?" Porthos asked urgently.

"No," d'Artagnan answered, reaching around Aramis to untie him.

Porthos breathed a sigh of relief. D'Artagnan tossed the rope to him, which he then used to tie up this fellow instead. The man grunted in pain as Porthos roughly lashed his wrists together.

"How can you defend him?" he seethed. "In Africa, you would be nothing more than cargo to Emile Bonnaire."

Porthos frowned and examined the man's shoulder wound. It should probably be tended to, but Aramis was struggling to sit up while d'Artagnan helped brace him, so Porthos left the interloper sitting there and went over to his friends.

"You alright?" he asked.

Aramis nodded stiffly. "Though my bruises now have bruises."

Porthos clenched his jaw and shot a vitriolic look back at their prisoner.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" d'Artagnan asked quietly. "About Bonnaire?"

Porthos looked over at the merchant, who was fidgeting where he stood and looking like he wanted to try escaping again, but Ayelet and Vrita were flanking him menacingly while Rhaego stalked threateningly around the other prisoner.

"One way to find out," he said, getting up and marching over to the wagon where he started to rifle through Bonnaire's things.

"Oh, now what are you doing?" the man exclaimed.

Porthos ignored him. There was an assortment of items in the cart, those gifts Bonnaire had been planning on giving the King. None of that was incriminating in any way. Porthos paused and picked up the cylindrical storage tube that the Spanish had picked up back in Le Havre.

"Ah, be careful with that! It's- it's quite fragile."

Porthos unscrewed the top, then shot the merchant a dry look as he tipped out a bunch of rolled up papers.

"They shouldn't be exposed to the moist air," Bonnaire continued, but his persistence only made Porthos think he was getting close to something.

He unrolled the papers and took a look at what appeared to be schematics of a ship and distribution of cargo. He stared at it for a long moment. The intruder's accusations slotted perfectly into what he was seeing, but it took Porthos a moment to double check for himself. But there was no denying it.

He let the papers fall to the ground and spun toward Bonnaire. "You lying, filthy swine!"

He surged forward and threw a punch that sent the merchant sprawling on the ground.

"Porthos, no!" d'Artagnan shouted, rushing over to intervene.

"He's right," Porthos snarled. "It is a slave ship."

Bonnaire crawled backward on the ground. "The drawings make it look far worse than it really is."

Porthos's vision filled with red and he wrenched away from d'Artagnan to snatch up one of the drawings. "Look worse? People packed on the deck like fish at the market," he seethed, shoving the paper in Bonnaire's face. "Men, women, children."

"I am not a prejudiced man!" Bonnaire trembled under Porthos's wrath. "This is business. Strictly business."

"The business of misery and suffering!" Porthos drew his arm back to punch him again, but d'Artagnan grabbed it and tried to pull it down.

"Porthos, that's enough!" Aramis yelled.

Porthos snapped his fuming gaze to his friend. "You would turn a blind eye to his crimes?"

"Slavery is cruel and disgusting," Aramis replied, then sighed. "But it is not a crime."

Porthos shook his head. Of course it was a crime. A crime against nature. Men were born free and no one had the right to make slaves of them.

"I heard stories about those ships as a child," he said, throat tightening. "Oh, hellish stories. Know why they're shackled? Hm?" He turned back to Bonnaire. "To stop 'em jumping overboard. Yeah, cos…that's better…than watching your friends, your family, your children die of starvation…and sickness…and hopelessness." He swallowed hard against the spiky lump constricting his throat.

Aramis moved closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'll get your justice, Porthos." He looked over at their prisoner. "You both will. The King will see to that."

Porthos let out a shuddering breath and shrugged away from Aramis and d'Artagnan, then stomped over to climb up onto Vrita.

"Where are you going?" d'Artagnan called after him.

"To get Maria's body," he lobbed back, pausing to shoot Bonnaire another scathing glare. "I suppose that was business too, leaving your true love there to die."

For the first time, Bonnaire looked away in what might have been shame.

Porthos's gaze briefly met the other black man's, and there was a kinship there, despite the fact they didn't know each other or even the man's name. They had a common heritage, though, and not just of Africa…

.o.0.o.

After returning to Paris, Athos tried to go about business as usual. But Thomas's ghost wasn't through with haunting him. That morning as he went through his ablutions, he thought he saw Thomas's reflection in the dusky mirror, but when he whirled around, there was nothing there. Athos would have written it off as him just being jumpy, but when he went downstairs for muster, he saw Thomas standing in the line with the other musketeers, staring straight at him with that unnerving intensity.

"Captain?" Christophe called tentatively.

Athos gave himself a sharp shake and realized his men were casting worried looks his way. He quickly finished handing out the duty roster and fled from their prying eyes. He wasn't used to such scrutiny, and he knew his men meant well, but he was captain now and could afford to show weakness even less than before.

He wished his brothers were here, though he wasn't sure what he would tell them. That he was losing his mind? Yes, they would be concerned and supportive, but there was little they could actually do to help him. And he didn't want their pity.

But the hallucinations wouldn't leave him alone. Everywhere he turned now, there was his brother, skewering him with that cold, dead gaze. And Athos felt speared in place by it.

" _What do you want?_ " he asked into the nothingness.

Thomas stared back at him.

"Leave me alone!" Athos threw a glass of wine at the apparition, but it merely smashed against the wall and splattered its contents everywhere.

"Athos?" a voice sounded from outside.

His heart was hammering inside his chest, pushing his blood through his ears in a roar so that at first he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Then the door opened and Treville poked his head in, brow creased with concern. Athos's face flushed hotly and he turned away.

"My apologies, Minister," he said in a gravelly voice.

Treville closed the door behind him. "Somehow I doubt I'm the one you were telling to go away."

There was an open invitation there. Athos glanced hesitantly at his former captain. He trusted Treville, though there were things he never would have confided to the man. But he was wrung out and some things just couldn't be avoided.

"I…am beginning to question my fitness for duty," he said quietly.

"Why is that?"

"I…" Athos swallowed hard. Saying it aloud would make it real, make it permanent. "I've been seeing things," he forced out. "I must be losing my mind."

Treville's brow furrowed. "What kinds of things?"

Athos sucked in a sharp breath; he could see the edges of Thomas's figure out of the corner of his eye, and it took all his power not to turn and look. "My dead brother."

Treville was silent for a moment, then walked over and took a seat on the other side of the desk. "We've all been under a great deal of strain recently. What happened with the necromancer…it's bound to take a toll."

Athos sank into his own chair and placed his head in his hand.

"I don't doubt your fitness," Treville went on. "Take some rest—I mean it," he added when Athos glanced up at him. "Paris is quiet for the moment. Give yourself time to relax before the next crisis appears."

Athos pursed his mouth. There was wisdom in that. He had been working hard—they all had. But he did carry more burdens as captain. He wondered how much of Treville's words came from his own experience. He would have hidden it from the men, just as Athos was trying to do now.

Athos inclined his head that he would try. Treville nodded and stood up to leave. When he was gone, Thomas suddenly appeared in the chair he had vacated.

Athos squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through it. He thought about the bottle of wine in his drawer. In days past he would drown out his ghosts with it, and for a brief moment, he considered going down that road again.

But he knew he couldn't. So he'd just have to take Treville's advice to get some rest—and try to ignore the dead eyes watching him as he did so.


	5. Chapter 5

D'Artagnan winced in sympathy as he gently massaged more salve into Aramis's back. The marksman was rigid beneath him and obviously trying very hard not to make a sound of distress.

"This doesn't look good, Aramis," he said, tugging the man's shirt back down over the purple and black contusion.

"All the more reason to return to Paris quickly," Aramis replied breathlessly as he slowly sat up.

D'Artagnan held back a sigh but only because he knew Aramis was right. Bonnaire attracted trouble like catnip to a feline; the sooner they got him to Paris, the better for them all.

A thwack of wing beats drew d'Artagnan's attention as Vrita returned. Porthos slid out of the saddle, cradling Maria's body in his arms. He strode toward Bonnaire's wagon without a word and yanked some of the tarpaulin coverings from the back to wrap her remains in. He found a shovel in there as well and shoved it into Bonnaire's hands, then dragged the man off a ways to start digging a grave for his wife.

D'Artagnan thought it best to leave them to it and flicked a look at their prisoner. The musket ball had gone clean through his shoulder, but he could use some doctoring.

"What are we going to do with him?" he asked Aramis quietly.

Aramis let out a weary sigh. "I'm not sure it's wise to take him with us; he and Bonnaire in the same space is a volatile combination."

"So is Bonnaire and Porthos," d'Artagnan commented.

They both looked across the field to where Porthos was sitting on a large rock while Bonnaire shoveled dirt.

Aramis grimaced as he rose stiffly to his feet and walked over to their prisoner, gazing down at him blandly for a prolonged moment. "Bonnaire will face charges in Paris before the King," he finally said. "End of story. But I'll grant you your freedom if you abandon this quest for revenge."

The man glowered at him in silence.

"I understand what freedom means to you," Aramis went on. "I suggest you find another use for it."

He turned and walked away to start packing up their camp. D'Artagnan wanted to tell him to sit down, but Porthos let out a sharp whistle and waved for d'Artagnan to bring Maria's body, so he huffed and went to get it.

She was heavy and awkward to carry, but he managed to get her over to the grave Bonnaire had dug. Porthos helped him set her down in it.

"Poor Maria," Bonnaire lamented. "She came here to free me and this is her reward."

"Crocodile tears," Porthos growled. "You left her to die."

"I owed it to her courage to try to escape!" He turned his gaze heavenward, as though that's where he expected her soul to be. "Forgive me, my love. You deserved a better man." He let out a broken sob.

Porthos scowled, obviously unconvinced of his sincerity.

D'Artagnan didn't know what to believe, and he wasn't sure it mattered anymore.

Porthos stood guard as he made Bonnaire shovel the dirt over the grave, and d'Artagnan went back to the camp to help Aramis pack up. Bonnaire was sweaty and dirty when they were finally done.

"We're leaving," Aramis said. "Porthos, you take Bonnaire."

The merchant pulled up short. "Wait, what do you mean?"

Porthos grabbed the man's shoulder and started hauling him toward Vrita. "You can either ride in the saddle or in her claws. Yer choice."

"What about my wagon?"

"The wagon stays here," Aramis replied.

"But my gifts for the King!"

"We're done," Aramis snapped, shooting Bonnaire a steely glare. The man gulped.

Porthos pushed him up onto Vrita and climbed up behind him. Bonnaire continued blathering his protests, albeit more quietly for just Porthos's ears, though he was even less sympathetic than Aramis at this point.

Aramis struggled to heave himself up onto Rhaego, but the russet dragon snaked his head around to help give his rider a boost.

D'Artagnan went to untether the mule, feeling guilty for leaving the poor animal out here alone. Though, there was Monsieur assassin. If he didn't have a horse nearby, he might make use of the donkey.

After the others were all mounted up and ready to go, d'Artagnan walked over to their prisoner and untied him. The man glared at him balefully but didn't make a move, not with Aramis aiming a pistol at him. D'Artagnan backed up and mounted up on Ayelet. Then the three dragon riders took to the skies to head home.

.o.0.o.

Athos heard the unmistakeable sounds of wing beats and headed out of his office, leaving Thomas's ghost skulking in the corner. His heart filled with both relief and heaviness at the sight of his brothers' arrival.

He made his way down the steps and toward them. "Were there any problems?"

"A few," d'Artagnan replied as he dismounted.

Athos noticed Aramis stiffly and carefully sliding down from Rhaego. "What happened?"

The marksman grimaced as he straightened. "Let's just say the King isn't the only one with a grievance against Bonnaire."

Athos flicked a look at the man in question. "I'll take him to Treville." He turned back to Aramis. "Do you need to see Lemay?"

Aramis shook his head. "I just need some proper rest in a bed."

D'Artagnan leaned toward and Athos and whispered, "But if you should happen to run into Lemay at the palace…" He trailed off meaningfully, and Athos gave a subtle nod that he understood.

He waved over some available musketeers to take custody of Bonnaire.

"Now wait just a minute," the merchant exclaimed. "I refuse to arrive at the palace in my present state, and I'm within my rights to demand a fresh set of clothes."

"What rights?" Porthos growled, turning on him so quickly and with such vehemence that Athos knew something had gone down on this trip.

Bonnaire rolled his eyes dramatically. "The rights of every man to some fair treatment. Justice, dignity. A little dignity!"

"You do know how ironic that sounds coming from a slave-trader?" d'Artagnan scoffed.

Athos arched a brow at that new information. Now he understood Porthos's mood.

"Yes, I've been thinking about that," Bonnaire said. "I'm out of the slavery business. Thank you for inspiring a new…Emile Bonnaire." He waved one hand with a flourish.

"You'd say just about anything to save your own skin," Porthos scowled.

Bonnaire looked offended. "Well, of course I would. Who wouldn't?"

"Enough," Athos interjected impatiently. "You'll be taken to the palace immediately. Trust me, Monsieur, your countenance should be the least of your concerns."

Pierre and Alain stepped closer to flank the merchant. Bonnaire glanced between their stony expressions and sagged in defeat.

Athos nodded to his brothers and then set off to escort Bonnaire to the palace. He couldn't help glancing up at his office on their way out of the garrison, expecting to see his brother's ghost standing at the window. He wrenched his gaze away before he could catch a glimpse of the dreaded specter.

Athos walked the merchant all the way to Treville's office but stopped outside the door and turned on Bonnaire.

"I have yet to hear a report from my men who escorted you to Paris," he began. "I suggest you be completely honest with Minister Treville about what occurred on the journey here, as any lies or omissions would surely be construed as signs of guilt."

Bonnaire gave a nervous half smile.

Athos knocked on the door, then left Pierre and Alain to take Bonnaire inside when Treville bid them enter. He wanted to head back to the garrison and see exactly what had befallen his friends on this mission.

But as he was crossing the courtyard, he spotted someone sneaking around on the rooftop across the way. Changing course, Athos headed around the back to come up on the figure from behind. He found a man in black crouched low and watching Treville's office through a spyglass.

Athos drew his pistol and snuck up behind him, announcing himself with the touch of the barrel to the back of the man's head. "You'd better have a good explanation for this."

The man froze, then slowly raised his hands. "I am not here to cause trouble," he said with a distinctly Spanish accent.

"Is that so? The King does not take kindly to spies."

"I am no spy," he said earnestly, slowly standing up and turning around. Athos kept his pistol pointed at the man's head. "I was sent to ensure Emile Bonnaire made it to Paris…" He hesitated. "And to shoot him if he escaped."

"I appreciate your honesty," Athos replied, regarding him seriously. "Bonnaire made it to Paris, as you saw, and now he will face the consequences of his recent actions."

There was a pregnant beat before the Spanish agent inclined his head in acceptance. Athos lowered his pistol.

"I will escort you off the grounds," he said. "I suggest you return to Le Havre immediately."

The man gave a clipped nod, and they made their way down from the rooftop and around the side of the palace to the edge of the gardens. Athos stood and waited as the Spanish agent retrieved his horse from the wooded area and rode off. He was just about to turn back when he caught sight of another figure standing at the edge of the tree line. His breath caught in his throat.

It wasn't Thomas this time, but the ghost of his dead wife. Anne was dressed all in black with a hooded cloak pulled up over her head. But her face and eyes were visible, set in stone the way they'd been the last time he'd seen her, when she'd held him captive and tortured him.

Athos shook his head and took an anguished step back. Why was this happening to him?

The phantom slowly moved forward, gliding across the ground toward him.

"What's the matter, Athos?" she spoke. "Not pleased to see me?"

He furrowed his brow. It couldn't be…it was impossible. Yet Thomas's ghost had never once spoken. Was this one different, or was Athos falling further into madness?

Anne smirked. "I'm real, my love. Unlike Thomas, but I thought it fitting to have a…family reunion." Her lip curled up in a wicked smile.

Athos backed up another step, continuing to shake his head in denial. "No…you're dead."

"Because your friend shot me?" she spat, eyes flashing dangerously. "Oh, I was close to death. Washed down the Seine like a gutter rat. That's when the Devil himself stepped in…and offered me not only a chance to live, but also unimaginable power. All in exchange for my soul, of course."

Athos's eyes widened in shock and dismay. "You didn't…"

"He got the short end of the deal," she sniped. "I didn't have much of a soul left at that point."

Athos swallowed hard, trying to process what he was hearing. "So you've come back for revenge."

Anne's eyes darkened like broiling storm clouds. "Not just revenge. I'm going to make you and your friends suffer. Did you enjoy your wine turning to blood? Or the rats…and, of course, that reunion with the dearly departed of your precious Musketeers."

Athos felt sick. "That was you?" he barely managed to get out.

She grinned. "Yes. Of course, once that witch hunter started snooping around, I had to lay down some misdirection."

Athos's lungs were buckling under the weight of these revelations. "And Thomas…that was just to torment me?"

Anne gave him a simpering moue. "And I'm just getting warmed up."

Athos felt like his chest was going to explode, but he managed to keep it together long enough to draw his pistol and whip it up toward her. Yet before he could squeeze the trigger, there was a blinding flash of light and he was thrown backward, hitting the ground so hard the wind was knocked out of him.

He lay there gasping as Anne came to loom over him.

"I'll be seeing you, Athos," she said, then calmly turned and walked away.

He struggled to push himself up onto one elbow so he could take aim and try again, but a mist had rolled in from out of nowhere and the murky tendrils swiftly surrounded Anne.

Athos scrambled to his feet, jerking his arm back and forth in search of her. The fog cleared just as quickly as it had appeared…and she was gone.

He stood there, shoulders heaving, gaping at the sunlit trees and mentally reeling that his wife had come back from the dead. Again.

And she was hellbent on destroying them all.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> With Milady's return, the musketeers find themselves on the receiving end of her wrath. Beginning with Porthos…


End file.
